As a foreign sommelier in Tokyo, I found my first dining
adventure to be a woeful version of the French stereotype-stuffy
tuxedos resplendent with a little gold pin in the shape of
a bunch of grapes, bumbling and unnecessary movements, and
a tendency to recommend wines priced in the stratosphere that
often failed to go with any of the food that was ordered.
The prevailing attitude seemed to say "Super Tuscans"
were okay with raw oysters if they cost upwards of ¥20,000.

Where were the joie de vivre and the passion from the rank
and file of the Japan Sommelier Association (JSA)? Where were
those sommeliers eager to quench a thirst for life and to
help wines reclaim their rightful position as the juice of
gods? Thankfully, after countless evenings amid the neon,
I realized they had been here all along. I just had to know
where to look.

Taste test
According to the JSA, Japan has a whopping 6,359 sommeliers.
That's more than any other country except Italy. Then there
are those who are members of the spin-offs: Zen Nippon Sommelier
Renmei and Coordinator Kyoukai-although the JSA has the longest
history and is considered the senior organization.

These astronomical figures can be attributed to the wine boom
circa 1995, which in turn was spurred by local sommelier Shinya
Tasaki's victory at the World Sommelier Championship that
same year.

Aside from an interest in wine and a ¥12,000 fee, one
must sit two exams to become a sommelier with the JSA. The
first is a general written exam based on material presented
in the form of a thick handbook. Roughly 50 percent of the
exam has to do with France, 20 percent with Italian viticulture,
and the remainder with Australia, Spain, Greece and Argentina,
among other wine-producing countries.

The second exam is of a more pragmatic nature, involving opening,
decanting and pouring wine for examiners pretending to be
customers in a formal setting. Examiners ask questions and
expect rapid-fire comments about a wine's color, nose, mouth-feel
and flavors-although unlike a sommelier competition or world
championship, they don't demand the ability to pinpoint a
wine's origins.

The popularity of rendering the artisan and abstract into
formulas seems to fit neatly into the Japanese regard for
order and reason. Yasuhiro Shibuya, a renowned sommelier at
Tokyo's Le Cep, cites feudal Japan and its highly regimented
traditions regarding flower arrangement and tea ceremonies
as akin to those of wine today. After all, surely only the
Japanese could come up with a 17-step process-as dictated
by the JSA-to open a bottle of wine!

Proving ground
The exams are quite general and open to anyone, which may
explain an interesting phenomenon-flight attendants make up
the majority of Japanese sommeliers. I asked the amiable Master
Katsuyama of Shonzui about this and he cited a lot of spare
time during trips abroad, and the desire to emulate Western
sophistication in a society where, formerly, such knowledge
was the sole domain of the ultra-male. In fact, the JSA is
known to actively recruit Japan Airlines and All Nippon Airways
staff, in part because the organization relies on them for
revenue.

I then inquired about Katsuyama's own credentials because
in New York, for example, he would surely be known as a wine
guru whether he had the official sommelier's license or not.
But he replied that he doesn't run with the staunch crowd,
adding, "Besides, if I was officially accredited, no
sommeliers would come to my bar for fear of competition!"

Nevertheless, Tokyo boasts several young sommeliers who shuffle
with a hip stride and favor artisan wines that taste of a
particular time, place and experience over the cookie-cutter
stuff of the New World. Masatoshi Matsuoka, Kazuhide Tanaka
and Satomi Ishii of the Aux Amis group, all under 30, speak
fondly of France's Languedoc region and wines such as the
magnificent Grange des Peres. Matsuoka cites them as the best
wines in the world for the money and most importantly, they
match well with the grilled meats and yakitori he serves at
Vin Picoeur.

Over at Stellato, the young and able Misa Koutaki opens bottles
with zeal and knows that a glass of wine in a customer's palm
is important after a hard day. She likes to match wines with
Stellato's classically inspired French cuisine to provide
the customer with a different experience from the big fruit,
big oak package. One of her favorite wines is a viscous and
powerful Pinot Gris from Piper's Brook in Tasmania, which
she pairs with everything from wild mushrooms and foie, to
roasted veal. This may seem unorthodox, but in Alsace such
combinations have worked for centuries and they still work.

Shinichi Kishida of L'ami du Vin Eno has been a sommelier
for more than five years, which at the age of 29 seems remarkable
in a country still new to wine. I watched him maneuver amid
trussed partridges, stone pigeons and hare hanging from the
beams of this bastion of great French cooking, which may well
be my favorite restaurant in Tokyo. Kishida is an example
of just how crucial an amiable sommelier is to the entire
gastronomic experience. He may not have the world's greatest
wine list, but it's growing all the time and he's never afraid
to humbly suggest a Brouilly-an ample and serious Beaujolais-despite
having more expensive wines on the list.

Kishida would rather see a customer try something new and
not necessarily expensive that goes well with the cuisine,
rather than relying on the old guns that everybody knows and
expects. "If need be," he says, "Bordeaux will
always be there."

These knowledgeable, young sommeliers make me giddy and excited
for the future of wine. Indeed, if this new breed embraces
the need for purity or distinction in a wine, be it a humble
Beaujolais or a Grand Cru Burgundy, we're all in for a treat!
After all, one can only drink a wine that tastes the same
so many times.